


what we do and don’t deserve

by vuccijl



Category: Good Girls (TV)
Genre: 3x04, Alternate Ending, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-15
Updated: 2020-03-15
Packaged: 2021-03-01 00:14:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,463
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23156137
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vuccijl/pseuds/vuccijl
Summary: They had to do something while they waited for the pulp to dry.
Relationships: Beth Boland/Rio
Comments: 22
Kudos: 196





	what we do and don’t deserve

**Author's Note:**

> I had a lot to think about after 3x04 but at the top of my list was what the hell did these 2 do while “waiting for the pulp to dry?” 
> 
> Hopefully this makes everyone feel better about what’s happening to our season 3! 
> 
> I really wanted to get this out before tonight’s episode so hopefully there are no glaring errors.
> 
> Thanks for reading!

_"Pulp's gotta dry now."  
_ _"OK.”  
_ _"It takes a while.”  
_ _"I got time."_

Beth wipes her palms down the front of her apron, desperate to rid them of the clammy, sticky feeling brought on only by nerves. Of course he has the time. She didn't really expect him to let her off the hook.

She unties the back of her apron and takes it off, setting it on the table in front of her. It's more for something to do with her hands - she'll need to put it on again later but, for now, she feels slightly less like she's being strangled by the string around her neck.

She wipes non-existent lint off her pants then attempts to pull her hair back into a ponytail before finding that her wrist lacks anything to hold it up. She'll do anything she can to avoid his gaze because she can feel it burning holes through her.

She sighs after a minute and then forces herself to look up. She swallows when her wary eyes meet his, dark and unreadable. 

"How's Marcus?" She asks, quietly, hoping he can't make out the shakiness of her words. She hates feeling this way around him. Hates that she's reverted back to the Beth she was when he'd appeared in her kitchen so long ago.

He shakes his head and clenches his jaw. "You don't get to ask that."

He's right, she doesn't - not really, but it doesn't change the fact that she does truly care about his son. Regardless of their situation, of how she'd gotten to know him, he'd been a bright spot in a dark time. It didn't hurt that her youngest daughter worshiped him. 

"I can't sit here in silence with you for the next hour." She says and she hates how desperate she sounds. 

"Oh, am'i supposed to feel bad for you?" He asks dryly, raising his eyebrows in question. He isn't - doesn't - she _knows_ that but she hates this game he's playing.

"You're _supposed_ to kill me." She snaps back, eyeing the gun sitting next to him. She's not sure where her confidence is coming from because she feels anything but. Maybe she's just done.

Maybe she's just ready for this all to be over with.

His hand twitches, his fingers glide briefly over the weapon next to him - maybe to scare her, maybe just instinctively, but either way she forces herself to stand up taller. 

"Let me ask you a question." He says as she opens her mouth to speak and so she pauses. He drops his hand from the gun and into his lap, twisting his fingers together so that they're linked.

She licks her lips equal parts terrified and intrigued. She hates that her eyes linger not on the gun but his hands - the way his fingers grip one another, the way his rings should look out place but don’t. Once upon a time her mouth went dry at the sight of those hands and suddenly it hits her that some things _haven't_ changed.

He’s looking at her, though, so she forces herself to focus.

"How were you plannin' on passin' _my_ baby off as your husband's?"

She swallows and her cheeks flush but otherwise she appears perfectly unmoved. She doesn't let the mention of their non-existent baby fluster her. She doesn't let the remorse she feels at such a lie eat away at her. She doesn't allow herself to harp on the flash of disappointment she'd seen in his eyes when she'd told him about her fake miscarriage.

After all, she's got plenty of experience with shoving down guilt until it's buried so deep she can almost pretend it doesn't exist.

"I hadn't thought that far ahead yet." She answers with a shrug and she thinks her acting is flawless but then again, he's always been too good at reading her.

"If you'd known you were pregnant way back when would you still have shot me?"

Her eyes widen and _oh_ , she thinks, _they're doing this?_

Her heartbeat picks up and the hole in the pit of her stomach grows. It's a natural reaction when she thinks about that night and it's even more ramped up by the fact that _he's_ bringing it up.

He'd placed the bullets in front of her at that bar, outlined where exactly she'd hit him, insulted her aim, but this feels different.

"If you'd known would you still have _kidnapped_ me?" She answers. It buys her time throwing a question back at him. 

He lets out a laugh but he doesn't look like he finds anything particularly funny. A memory pops up in her mind: the two of them sitting in her backyard surrounded by holes in the ground where her money had been dug up and stolen. He'd laughed with her, _genuinely_ , for the first time and while she may have appeared unaffected on the outside, on the inside she was anything but. 

She wonders how they went from there to here. 

If they can ever go back.

If she'd even want to.

"Tell me how this works." He says, pulling her from her thoughts. Apparently he's letting her off the hook or maybe he’s just as willing to avoid her question as she is his.

"What?" She asks, lines creased in her forehead as she tries to get back on track. He does this often, moves the conversation around so quickly it gives her whiplash.

"The little operation you got goin' on here." He elaborates.

She shrugs, resting her hands on the table in front of her. She's not willing to give him any more than she has to. "My boss gives us a lot of freedom so I use this room after we close."

He hums in contemplation. His eyes sweep across the room, to the printer and the clothesline and the blender. To the empty nail polish bottles behind her and the baby pool still sitting on the floor. When he's taken it all in, he looks back to her.

"Who designed it?" He asks and she knows what he means without having to ask for clarification.

"The graphic designer at the store." She answers vaguely. "Turns out none of us are great artists."

"She know what it was for?" He questions, ignoring her attempt at a joke.

Beth shakes her head but doesn't give him more than that.

"And you usin' reformed criminals to wash it?"

"I don't know about reformed..." She trails off, wondering just how much he knows.

"How's it workin' out for you?" His tone is light as if he knows more than he's letting on.

She hesitates, biting her lip, before she answers slowly. "There's been a bit of a learning curve." 

And it's as much of the truth as she's willing to give.

He nods but seems to be done with his inquisition for the moment. She lets out a deep breath and feels her pulse relax. 

"Do I get to ask any questions?" Beth quips.

He tilts his head at her and after a beat pushes up off of his chair to stand. She watches him make his way closer to her until he's standing on the opposite side of the table. Closer than before but somehow not close enough.

Her cheeks heat at the thought.

"You think you deserve 'em?"

She feels the anger that's been bubbling since he walked into the store earlier overflow and she knows that she can't keep herself in check any longer. 

Because he can put the blame on her for a lot of things. And he has every right to hate her. But he's not blameless and either he can't see it or he doesn't care to but she's had enough.

Whether he's playing games with her or really intends to kill her she doesn't know anymore.

Either way she's tired of living in fear.

"You didn't give me a choice!" She shouts and he reels back inches, enough to let Beth know she's surprised him. She’s wanted to say the words for long enough now and the weight she’s felt on her shoulders for months lightens significantly.

It's another second before he reacts but the sinister smile that slowly creeps onto his face is enough to drive her mad.

"You had a choice, mama." He says, his voice low and gravelly and if she had any sense in her she'd run far away because someone that makes you _so mad_ shouldn't make you _so hot_ all at once. "You made the wrong one and now you gotta deal with the consequences."

"And what?" She asks with a frown. "You get some sick pleasure out of torturing me?"

He moves around the table and now that he's closer she's positive she doesn't want him here.

And she'll keep telling herself that until she's convinced.

"Yeah, sweetheart." He answers, making sure she's looking at him when he finishes. "I do."

"I don't know what you want from me." Her voice is soft and defeated, she sounds resigned and exhausted and she's sure that he can tell. 

"I want you to show me the rest of whatchu do back here." He says it so simply as if her life isn't determined by the product she produces.

"Then what? Do I spend the rest of my life waiting for you to have no use for me?" It's a valid question, one she needs the answer to but doesn't want the answer to.

"Why don't you tell me what you think you deserve, huh?" He suggests with a casual shrug.

He's only feet away from her now but his eyes don't leave her face and she knows he's doing everything he can to unsettle her. His arm is perched on the table next to them, stretched out far enough so that his fingers _just_ fall short of touching her own.

She's working out how to respond but he continues and for the first time she can see past the anger and disgust and hatred. For the first time she sees the _hurt_. Hears it in his voice. She knows he's desperate to hide it and it's only just a glimpse but it's there.

"You think I shouldn't kill you. Why? Why's your life more important than mine? Why's your family need you more than mine?"

She shakes her head because it's those same questions she's asked herself since that night.

And she can't answer them so she ignores him.

"Can't we just go our separate ways?” She suggests quietly. “Admit we’ve both done some things wrong and be done with each other?”

Rio steps closer and Beth holds her breath. She's waiting for him to reach out and touch her but he doesn't and she hates that she wants it. Hates that he probably can tell.

"That whatchu really want?"

She stops to think about it. Is it? For weeks she'd thought that he was dead and she'd been okay with it. Happy about it, really. She hadn't allowed herself to feel the other emotions that attempted to surface. She hadn't allowed herself to miss him, to think about the man she'd grown to like. She'd only allowed herself to remember the man who'd shoved a bag over her head and a gun into her hand.

Because that was easiest.

Because that allowed her the only chance she had to move on.

Beth refuses to give him the satisfaction of an answer so she turns away from him. Her front is pressed up against the table she's been working at, her arms stretched out on either side, palms face down.

She glances at the clock on the wall and guesses she has at least another ten to fifteen minutes before the pulp will be dry enough to continue. She lowers her head, letting it hang and rolls her neck from side to side in an attempt to release the tension that's been building over the last hour.

Beth hears him move before she feels him but before she can even register it he's behind her, boxing her in. She opens are eyes but doesn't lift her head when she sees Rio’s hands on either side of her own. 

His front is pressed up against her back the slightest bit but it's enough to feel him everywhere. 

She's scared to move, scared to _breath_ and when he moves his head so that his mouth is lined up with her ear, so close that she can feel the warmth of his breath, there's nothing she can do to stop the whimper from escaping her throat.

“I like watchin' you work.”

_Me too_. She wants to say. _I like you watching me too._ She wants to say. But her mouth is dry and her voice doesn't work so she‘s silent.

“I fuckin' hate that I like it.”

The breath she exhales is shaky and her body goes rigid when she feels him nuzzle his nose into her neck. She grips the end of the table so hard that her knuckles turn white. He has to be messing with her. Any second now he’ll pull away, throw a smirk in her direction and tell her how pathetic she is.

But until he does, she won’t stop him.

She feels him inhale like he’s trying to memorize the smell of her - like maybe he’d forgotten. His nose slides down her neck and to her shoulder but he doesn’t kiss her, doesn’t give her what she wants - what she’ll never ask for.

She feels hot. So hot. She doesn’t know if she’ll be able to handle it if he pulls away so she inches backwards - it’s only a hair, hardly anything at all, but it’s enough to make him grip her hips and squeeze and then they’re...frenzied.

Beth pushes back again, harder this time and Rio digs the tips of his fingers into the bare skin underneath her shirt. He’ll leave a bruise but she wants him to. Let him hurt her if it makes him feel better.

Rio’s arms come around to palm at both of her breasts and she leans her head back so that it’s resting on his shoulder. His face is buried in her hair and she thinks maybe he doesn’t want to watch - like if his eyes are closed it makes this less real. More okay.

One hand stays firmly planted on her breast while the other moves down, until it’s popping the button of her pants. Beth gnaws at her lip and she can taste the exact moment that she draws blood.

She hears the metal of her zipper slide down and then his fingers are sliding into her panties. He lets out an animalistic _growl_ when he feels how wet she is for him. She should be embarrassed but she doesn’t have it in herself to care.

She grinds up into his fingers, reaching out to cover his hand with her own. She pushes down because she needs more, feels like it won’t ever be enough and he either can read her mind or just knows how she likes it because he’s sliding three long fingers inside of her and she’s seeing stars.

“Tell me what you want.” He says between a clenched jaw but she’s too distracted to make out what he’s asking.

He pushes her pants down, panties quick to follow. He keeps one hand exactly where she wants it while the other gets his pants undone and down and then he's bending her over the table in front of her much the same way he bent her over that bathroom sink not so long ago.

He likes having her this way. It keeps him from look into her eyes. Keeps him from kissing her like he wants to but shouldn’t.

She likes having him this way too. It keeps her from remembering that he hates her. Keeps her from remembering what could have been but will now never be.

He pauses, he's hard and pushing against her and she's ready and waiting.

“Tell me what you want.” He repeats, his voice low and deep and strained.

“Isn't it obvious?” She whispers, her voice cracking towards the end as his thumb brushes her clit.

“Maybe. But I been way off 'bout a lot recently.” And instead of trying to figure out what he means she reaches around to grab his cock. She squeezes and can't help the spike of pleasure that shoots through her when he groans.

”Tell me what you want.” He insists, and he stops what he’s doing with his fingers to let her know he’s serious.

She groans and then stops what she’s doing with her hand let him know she’s listening.

”lf I tell you you’ll do the opposite just to punish me.” She answers and Rio can’t help but grin, like a Cheshire Cat, because she’s wrong but also not completely off base. He’d thought about it more times than he can count - getting her all worked up and close to release and then denying her what she wanted.

But he’s too far gone to follow through. 

“You want me?” Rio pushes - he needs her to answer.

”How is that not glaringly obvious?” Beth seethes because she hates him for making her admit it when she’s dripping onto his fingers and biting her lip so hard she’s drawn blood.

”Say it.” He demands in much the same way he’d demanded she show him how she made her money earlier.

”I fucking want you.” She grits out between her teeth.

It‘s enough for him but it doesn’t feel nearly as satisfying as he thought it would. He needs this though - couldn’t stop if he wanted to - so he enters her from behind in one quick thrust and she breaths a sigh of relief.

So much has changed but this? This might prevent them from _ever_ truly being done with each other.

There’s a maddening lull where they both adjust to each other and than it’s frantic. Like if they go slow, if they take their time, it’ll give them the opportunity to realize how wrong this is. 

The feel of him so raw sends Beth spinning. Rio drives his dick in hard and fast and she welcomes it - will dream about it. She’s bent so far over the table in front of her that her cheekbone will bruise - one of Rio’s hands is pressing on her shoulder, the other squeezing her hip and she’s sure she’s never wanted to come so badly.

Beth feels his hand in her hair, yanking her up from the table. His breath is hot on her neck and she wishes he would tell her how badly he wants her - she wishes she had the courage to ask.

Rio’s teeth nip at her shoulder, he’s so deep inside of her that it hurts but she relishes it. Wouldn’t want it any other way. The way they have sex directly correlates with how they’re feeling about each other at any given moment and this is the only way sex makes sense for them right now.

Angry and passionate and hot and needy and desperate.

Rio’s arm wraps around her ribs, grabbing her through her blouse. The sight of his rings on his long fingers, the size of his hand, the feel of his dick driving in and out of her, the sound of his breathing, is enough to send her over the edge.

And over the edge she goes and she knows the second he’s gone too because he tightens his grip on her everywhere and she can’t make out where her moans begin and his end.

It’s never been like this.

For a second, every pent up emotion they feel for each other is forgotten and all they can care about is _this._ How they’ve made each other feel right in this moment. 

And then it’s over. They come down from their high, he pulls out and cleans up and dresses and she does the same. The flush on her cheeks fades and the knots in her hair are smoothed down.

His face is void of any emotion and Beth can no longer remember what had made her think this was a good idea. 

She opens her mouth to quell the silence but he beats her to the punch.

”Pulp’s probably dry, ya?” He says and the only sign that anything has happened between them is the sheen of sweat across his forehead and the rasp in his already husky voice.

And then he’s back to his stool, perched right on the edge and she’s tying the apron around her neck and setting up the press for printing and it’s like they’d never even touched.

Except that they did.

_“What do you think?”  
_ _”I think I need you alive.”_


End file.
